


Won't Let You Go Like This

by alienexe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, fic also leans on the headcanon of crowley being the angel raphael before the fall, not in every chapter but enough to tag it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 09:00:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19971433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienexe/pseuds/alienexe
Summary: There were certain pains that came with eternal damnation, and Crowley hadn't even learnt the half of it.a.k.a.: 5 times Crowley mourned lost love, and 1 time it found him again.





	Won't Let You Go Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a 5+1 fic, and each chapter is one of the scenes.
> 
> This first one takes place during the creation of the universe and the fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings for this chapter:** descriptions of blood & gore / body horror  
> special thanks to the posts that inspired this chapter: [ [1](https://pendulumpelvis.tumblr.com/post/186073528002/me-good-omens-fandom-what-if-crowley-is) | [2](https://twitter.com/speremint/status/1142139474580840450) !!blood/body horror!!]  
> song for this chapter: [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=httrdbyT9ZQ)

**i.** Two ethereal beings sat side-by-side beneath a blooming tree because they were so, so in love. The tree could have been an oak, but it wasn’t because they weren’t even on the right planet. Here, the skies were the color of amethyst and the plant life consumed oxygen and wasted carbon dioxide, the inverse to its earthly counterpart. The advantages to being a heavenly being included the ability to look literally anywhere in the universe and be there in an instant. Of course, this meant any other heavenly being could be there in an instant as well, but they’d have to look literally anywhere in the universe first.

The angels looked to the sky, and watched the first of a pair of binary suns begin its descent behind the horizon. They each sat cross-legged, the flowing white gowns they wore over their laps. One had hair blonde as a rock bleached by the sun, the other fiery auburn hair with highlights that shone just as such in the light. Each of them wore it long (long for their tastes, that is; the blonde one’s hair only reached his chin in a quaint little bob cut).

“How do you fancy that, Aziraphale?” asked the fiery one. “A lavender sky,” he seemed quite pleased with himself, “you don’t get that sort of thing on Earth.”

“It is quite nice,” Aziraphale agreed. Or he pretended to agree. It wasn’t convincing.

“‘Nice?’ I show you a purple sky and all you’ve got to say is ‘nice?’ This is not ‘nice’ this is _lovely._ ”

“Well, there is that one planet a couple systems over with the orange sky—“

“Yeah, yeah, I heard about the orange sky,” the other brushed Aziraphale off. “But _look_ _!_ Do you not feel at peace when you look at that?” He gestured once more to the sky. Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak (a comment about how it was difficult to find peace with somebody flapping his arms about) but it was a rhetorical question, so he never got a word in. “Orange may be the color of strength and endurance but it is also crass and rude and overbearing. But purple? Purple brings serenity and grace and calm.” He held out a closed fist, and as it curled open a lilac appeared on his palm. “And in the case of this flower here, the blossoming of love.”

Aziraphale flushed and looked down into his lap. “Oh, Raphael, I—“ He picked at the fabric of his gown. He looked up again. “That is rather lovely, when you put it that way.”

Raphael smiled to himself, something small and guarded. But not guarded enough to prevent Aziraphale from leaning in to steal a quick kiss, and the flush practically jumped from his cheeks to the other angel’s. For their love was just as young as the flower in Raphael’s hand, but to each it ran deeper than the planet’s core.

But as with all sunny days, a storm brewed just beyond the horizon. And Raphael could practically see the black clouds above Aziraphale’s head. Something was wrong, and it wasn’t the color of the sky.

“Aziraphale.”

The angel looked up. He started to wring his fingers between his hands. “Well, I,” he took a breath. He had practiced this to himself so many times already. He could do this. “I’ve heard about Lucifer’s plans. In the throne room.” He looked for a reaction but Raphael purposefully avoided his gaze, focused on the tiny plants beneath them that resembled grass. “Please tell me you’re not going with them.”

Raphael’s lips pressed into a thin line, something he did when deep in thought. “We’ll see,” he muttered.

And as noncommittal as it was, it was the answer that made Aziraphale’s stomach flip. And it was the worst answer. It was the one that meant Raphael had planned on it, but he didn’t want to tell Aziraphale because he knew he wouldn’t agree with it. It meant that he was going to go behind Aziraphale’s back and do it anyway and there was nothing Aziraphale could do to stop him. As the angel of healing, Raphael had a strong sense of compassion, but that was a trait Aziraphale more often than not found paired with obstinance and a strong will: the two things that could get an angel in trouble.

“You don’t like that,” Raphael noted.

“No, I don’t,” Aziraphale admitted. “But I know I can’t change you mind, either.”

Raphael nodded, a solemn acknowledgment. “There’s just one thing I want to know,” he said, “and that’s just ‘why?’”

Aziraphale didn’t follow. “What do you mean?”

“Why all the suffering?” he asked. “If we’re meant to watch over the humans and God says they are her children, why all of the bloodshed and pain? It seems so needlessly cruel.”

“Well, when Armageddon comes-”

“Yes!” Raphael snapped, “I know the official reason. The Divine Plan this, the Great Plan that. I understand the concept of the Balance of Good and Evil but must it all end in death and destruction? I mean, undoubtedly there will be children around when Armageddon comes if this whole ‘reproduction’ idea is the way the Almighty has decided she wants to populate things. They’ll never be ready, there will always be innocents. They’re all innocents, really. They never asked to be made.”

Aziraphale nodded in understanding. “I just want you to remember,” he told the other, “that we’re not subject to the same leniency. Angels don’t have free will. If things go south, you won’t be forgiven.” He had lost this one, but he could at least do his best to minimize the damages.

“Thank you,” Raphael said simply. Or that's what Aziraphale wanted to pretend the grunt he received in return was. He stood up from his spot underneath the would-be oak tree and wiped off his gown. He stretched his limbs and shook out his wings, then offered a hand to help Aziraphale up. He took it graciously, although he was puzzled as to why Raphael suddenly wanted to get up. Raphael smiled, the glum reflection in his eyes now one of delight. “I want to show you something,” he told Aziraphale.

“Oh?”

“This way!” He still had Aziraphale’s hand in his, and practically dragged him through the dirt. And he didn’t stop until they had reached the peak of the highest mountain. “Look!” he shouted and threw his arms to the sky.

Aziraphale did not look up; he looked down as he dusted off his gown. “What is so important that we couldn’t just fly up here?” he grumbled with an indignant huff.

A look crossed Raphael’s face that told Aziraphale that he hadn’t even considered flying. “Oh, yeah,” he said, “I’ll keep that in mind for next time. But I just have to show you this! It’s my favorite thing I’ve made.”

Aziraphale perked up at this. Sure, Raphael had a lot of favorite things he’d made, but they were all for good reason. Not a single one disappointed.

And Raphael wasn’t about to start. Aziraphale looked up to where his outstretched arms pointed and gasped. In the twilight, the lilac sky had sunk into a deep indigo and the night revealed the most beautiful nebula he had ever seen. It matched the color of the planet’s sky during the day and wrapped around the horizon like silk.

“Now, once the civilizations and such really start to fill in here obviously you won’t be able to see it,” Raphael explained, “but for now, here it is. In all of its natural glory.”

“It really is lovely,” Aziraphale agreed. He looked into its center and tried to imagine what the future star would look like. Suddenly, a terrible thought occurred to him.

“This isn’t going to incinerate the planet or anything like that is it?”

“What?” Raphael balked. “No, of course not.”

“You double-checked?”

“I think so. Why?”

“Stars expand as they grow.”

Raphael shrugged him off. “Yeah, but they shrink again.”

Aziraphale scoffed, “Well, what is everyone going to do until then?”

“Shit.”

Aziraphale wanted to laugh, it was a silly little accident after all, but Raphael’s face fell and he sunk into a heap on the ground. He may have been crying but in the limited light it was difficult to tell, Aziraphale had only seen a glint of what could possibly be a tear. Aziraphale knelt down beside him. “Hey, what’s wrong? It’s still beautiful.”

“It’s going to destroy everything,” he mumbled.

“Beautiful things often do.”

Raphael shot him a look (he wasn’t crying but he was fighting it) and snapped, “I don’t _want_ it to destroy everything.” He sniffled. He had worked so hard to create a place for living things to thrive: the anti-Earth, he called it. But he had gotten so caught up in the idea that he himself spoiled it. Maybe some things just weren’t meant to be.

Aziraphale said nothing. He instead adjusted himself so he sat beside Raphael once more, just as they had underneath the tree, and wrapped his wings around him until the anguish stopped.

**ii.** The worst storm anybody had ever seen hit that day, both figuratively and literally. The raid on the throne room was an absolute disaster, as Aziraphale had said it would be, and God herself, oh boy. God was not very happy. Not in the slightest.

And that was how they ended up here, in a cave in one of the many forests of earth silently begging the universe for one more minute.

Because the thing about the Almighty and All-Knowing is that she was, in fact, Almighty and All-Knowing. She knew what Lucifer was going to do and how and when and who they would convince to tag along with them even before Lucifer knew they were going to do it. And there was no way she didn’t know exactly where Raphael was right this moment, and that Aziraphale, as loyal to her as he was, wanted to protect him, and therefore would be at his side.

Raphael didn’t cry or scream, as much as he wanted to. He didn’t so much as let out a whimper, even though he felt as if the slightest breeze would snap him like a twig. Instead, he went directly to the Eastern Gate of the Garden and found Aziraphale. They met right as the first drops of water fell from the sky, and after Aziraphale gave him the quick once over he hurried them into the cave he knew of. They had to run, they would have been spotted flying above the trees and there was no where they could teleport where they wouldn't still be found eventually. Every tree and forest creature watched with bated breath, waiting for Aziraphale to make a mistake.

Raphael had already made his.

What a dastardly thing to do, he thought to himself, to condemn Aziraphale to his own fate. Sure, he hadn't been there for the actual event but now he sheltered a fugitive and when they got caught (and they would get caught), it'd be game over for both of them. Did Aziraphale himself even realize this? The poor, naive soul had likely reasoned with himself that he could talk the Almighty out of it: to protect somebody in distress had never been a crime, and it wasn't like Raphael had done anything wrong anyway - he'd just asked a couple questions. Maybe he stood in the back of the crowd during the raid but was that in itself a crime?

Raphael sighed. Aziraphale loved being an angel dearly and he was so earnest in his loyalty to God, anything otherwise would destroy him. Raphael saw the twinkle in his eyes every time he performed a minor miracle himself or when he witnessed happenings he would call "miracles of life." Small things that brought relief to the dull ache that was eternity.

He made his choice. Aziraphale wouldn't suffer for it.

He watched the other angel pace at the mouth of the cave (after today it would be _the_ angel). He wouldn't be able to sneak out by foot. He'd have to teleport himself right into God's hands. He didn't like that. It scared him, in fact. But the thought of hurting the one he loved beyond repair scared him even more.

But Raphael couldn't just leave without an explanation; arguably, that was even worse than what he was trying to avoid doing. He had to leave a message, and there was only one place he could where no one else would look.

When Aziraphale went in to check on him, he was gone. Feeling hopeless, the angel returned outside to find that the rain had stopped. He looked up to see a clear sky and in the night the stars spelled out the words,

_I'm sorry, Angel._

**iii.** The rain returned again once the whole casting out business was done with. And it would continue for days and days, although the water didn't seem to collect anywhere - it was as if all of the water in the world was part of one big infinity pool. The universe mourned its fallen children.

The night everything happened, Aziraphale spent his time afterward between his post at the Eastern Gate, and the cave he and Raphael had taken refuge in. He knew what had happened, he had seen it, but he still held out hope.

Raphael knew this because he watched him. Not in a spooky, newly-fallen-angel way, but in the way that he was trying to approach Aziraphale but it was difficult after somebody made an attempt to tear your wings from your spine. And not a very good attempt, either. A purposefully shoddy one. He collapsed into the mud, and he may have cried out for Aziraphale but in his pain-induced delirium it was impossible for him to tell if a sound even left his mouth.

Next thing he knew he was being shaken.

"Can you hear me? Hello? Raphael, please." A break. Possibly lips on his? He couldn't really tell. The hands that held him and assessed his injuries became frantic. "Raphael, please say something!"

"H...how bad is it?" he managed to muster. What he wanted to say was “Did you really just try and give me the Kiss of Life?”, but he was in no shape to tell jokes.

Aziraphale gaped at him. "How bad? It's absolutely awful, I..." Raphael shot him a glare, and he snapped back, "Well, what do you want me to say?"

And he was right, it was absolutely awful. Raphael's once perfectly white wings were now black as night. At least they were in the places where the wing wasn't torn to the bone. Blood dripped into and stained his robes and stuck his feathers together in grisly clumps. It was so grotesque that if it weren't for the feathers themselves being black Aziraphale would have assumed the wings were necrotic.

"What happened to you? What did you do?"

Raphael's eyes clouded with tears from the immense pain as he laughed at the question, and that was when Aziraphale noticed his irises were now those of a snake. " _They_ did this to me. I didn't _do_ anything." Aziraphale pulled him close and kissed his forehead.

"I didn't do anything," he repeated.

Although angels were not necessarily meant to be kind, benevolent beings, they certainly had the means to do so. Broken bones, split lips, broken hearts. Fixing that was all in a day's work for Aziraphale, and he could still be home in time for tea.

But eternal damnation and its associated agonies? That was the one thing he couldn't heal.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> comments & kudos are appreciated! ♡
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/pendulumpelvis) / [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/culmetisms)


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